


silver & sharpened

by mechup



Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Arguments, Knives, Other, Psychic Bond, inconvenient boners, no one read this thanks, unresolved tension but then it gets resolved so it's ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechup/pseuds/mechup
Summary: Leela and Narvin get into an argument.
Relationships: Leela (Doctor Who)/Narvin (Doctor Who)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	silver & sharpened

**Author's Note:**

> the majority of this is Freya's fault bye

“I am tired of you always thinking you are some extraordinary person who can do no wrong, Narvin! Because you are not!” Leela is yelling, angrier than Narvin can remember seeing her in a while. “You are not any better than anyone else, and you are _certainly_ not any better than me!”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Narvin replies with a laugh, returning her gaze just as fiercely. “I am assuredly better than _you_ , Leela.”

She moves so quickly that he doesn’t know what’s happened for a moment, but he soon realizes he is now pinned against the wall, her knife unforgivingly solid against his throat. 

“You want to beg?” she asks him, a glint in her eye that gives him the urge to flee. He stays put, standing his ground even as he realizes exactly how intimidating she can be. He’s seen her harm countless people, but he’s never been on the receiving end of it besides minor threats. She leans in closer, “Then do it.”

Narvin goes very still, extremely well aware that any sudden movement could lead to his demise. He looks genuinely fearful, an emotion she has _never_ seen on his face. 

“What?” he asks, his voice going just a bit higher than normal. She presses the blade harder against his neck and his breath hitches, eyes widening. She wouldn’t kill him... right? He’s suddenly not so sure so he goes quiet, wanting to shut his eyes but not wanting to know what’ll happen when he isn’t looking. 

He swallows audibly, feeling his cheeks heating up as he tries not to squirm. She stares at him before pulling away — not completely, but just enough that it puts some space between them. Then she laughs and he’s left with confusion. 

“I did not expect this from you, Narvin,” she says, only further confusing him. It must show on his face because she glances down, towards— oh. 

Oh no. 

He can’t help it as his cheeks heat up even further, and the cool knife feels drastically sharp, much sharper than it looks, against his burning skin. He shuts his eyes tightly, wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. When he opens his eyes again, he’s in the same exact place, much to his dismay. 

“I— Leela— I—” he stammers, not knowing what to say. 

“The coordinator of the CIA... is that not supposed to be one of the most powerful positions on the planet?” she asks, voice taunting. He doesn’t know where she’s going with this but he nods anyway. “But you are pinned to the wall by a human and have not done a thing to stop me, you must not be so powerful after all.”

That sends a surge of— _something_ that he didn’t even know he could feel through him. A whimper catches in his throat that he’s not sure he manages to stifle entirely and he doesn’t know what to do or say.

“Leela,” he tries again, not so much trying to gain the upper hand as simply trying to gain a semblance of not being a deer in headlights. She was right, he’s the coordinator of the CIA, and he should not allow anyone to treat him like this! But then she smirks and his next comment dies in his throat, and he doesn’t know if he hates himself more for finding her intimidating or _liking_ that she’s intimidating. 

“Yes?” She leans in even closer, the ghost of her lips brushing against his. He doesn’t know what he wants but there is absolutely no space between them and it is _intoxicating_. He starts to lean in before he realizes what he’s doing but the movement reminds him of the knife currently being held to his throat, and he stops. 

“Leela...” he repeats, her name a mere whisper now. She stares at him for a few spans, her own expression unreadable, and then she pulls away completely. He’s left feeling both too hot and too cold from the abrupt lack of her and her knife, but he doesn’t say another word as he watches her leave. 

He’s only able to catch his breath once she’s completely out the door and he runs his hands over his face, trying to compose himself. He has no idea what just happened or how to feel about it, but he already has so much to do and doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He’ll put it out of his mind and get on with his day, and neither him nor Leela will even remember it the next time they see each other. 

* * *

It turns out ignoring it doesn’t work. He can’t get it out of his head, the feeling of Leela’s knife against his throat and her body against his. He can’t remember the last time he was so distracted, but he is utterly unable to focus on anything else. He barely manages to get through the day and as soon as he’s not needed by anyone else, before he realizes what he’s doing, he goes in search of Leela. 

He finds her almost immediately, her bedroom being the most likely place for her to be at this time. She looks up when he enters the room but he’s left speechless, not having thought far enough ahead to know what to say. Surprise shows on her face for a span but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared. It’s replaced by understanding, which Narvin is grateful to see, because he’s not sure he himself understands. 

“What do you want?” 

The question hangs in the air and he ignores the urge to writhe under her intense gaze. Only one answer forms in his head but he doesn’t want to _say it_ , not when he doesn’t know how she’ll respond. She doesn’t look away or speak, and his resolve crumbles. At last, he whispers his answer. He wants, he _needs_ — 

“Your knife.”

Her eyebrows raise, not in judgement but in surprise. “You are braver than I thought. I did not expect you to admit it, or even come find me.”

He sheepishly looks away, face burning. He’s never been one to give into his desires, but he’s always known she was different; she pulls him in until he’s left with no escape... not that he even _wants_ to escape. 

He doesn’t notice she’s taken a few steps towards him until she’s already standing in front of him. She takes his chin in hand, lifts his head so he’s forced to meet her eyes, and he can’t help the shiver that makes its way through him. “Leela, I—”

He wishes he could see what she’s thinking but her face is completely guarded, not showing even a hint of what’s happening in her brain. She steps back and heads to the table by her bed where she picks up her knife. He lets out an embarrassingly strangled breath, finally confronted with what he’s been thinking about all day. 

She takes his hand and guides him to her bed, pushing him down onto it so she can straddle him. He can only watch with half lidded eyes as she deliberately trails her finger along the edge of her blade. A chill goes down his spine at the sight and his mouth goes dry as he’s filled with pure _want_ , something he can’t remember ever feeling before he met her. She slowly leans in, giving him enough time to stop her, but he remains silent and waits for her to press her lips to his. 

He shuts his eyes, overwhelmed, losing himself in the feeling of _her_. She pulls away after what he thinks is much too soon, but he belatedly realizes she’s holding the knife against him again, and he can’t help the choked off whimper that escapes him. He reaches out to her because he _has_ to touch her, but she holds the knife harder against his throat, stopping him in his tracks. 

“ _Do not_ move. Or I might... _accidentally_ cut you,” she tells him, voice a low and threatening pitch that registers low in his belly. The threat sends his mind to imagining exactly that, and he has to bite his lip so he doesn’t make another sound. He considers arching up, just enough that the knife does prick his skin and he can feel the sweet sting of the injury. He stays where he is, but she seems to know exactly what he’s thinking anyway. “You never fail to surprise me, Narvin.”

“Have to keep you on your toes,” he jokes, hoping she can’t hear how breathless he is. 

She moves the knife further down his body, lightly dragging it across his collarbone and to his chest. She pauses for a moment, then briefly puts it aside to get him out of his robes. He would’ve complained about them being thrown to the floor but he quickly loses all train of thought when she picks the knife back up, returning it to his chest. She moves it from the left to right, over both his hearts, and he can’t hold back his shiver at the cool metal running along his skin. It isn’t all that different than when he was clothed but everything is heightened, and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything she does. 

She moves the knife with purpose and on an offbeat, she cuts. He jerks underneath her and his gasp is much louder than he’d like it to be but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s lost in the sensations, overflown from a burst of pleasure that he’s vaguely sure should be pain. He grabs onto the bed sheets in an attempt to ground himself, to ignore that he’s mere microspans away from being rendered a complete mess. 

She switches back to lightly trailing the knife across him at an agonizingly slow pace, the fading sting leaving him dizzy. She continues until he’s squirming, wanting more but unable to voice it. 

“I will give you what you need if you ask,” she says once he’s begun trembling. He doesn’t respond at first; he knows she isn’t going to take pity on him but he still hopes she’ll do it without making him say it out loud. 

It doesn’t take long before he gives in, pleading with both his eyes and his words. “Cut me. Please, I—”

He’s interrupted when she rewards him by cutting by his shoulder, making the slice just a little longer than the first. With her free hand, she takes the opportunity to go _lower_ , and the combination of both has him crying out in surprise. It hurts but it’s so _good_ and he can’t quite figure out which feeling to focus on, the two twisting through him and only further causing the want in him to grow. 

“Shh,” she hushes him, placing the knife down. She leans in to press her lips to the most recent wound, and he’s too far gone to even try to stifle his whimper when her tongue makes contact. She moves up, back to his neck, and brings her teeth into the game. 

“No, people will see,” he says, barely able to get through the sentence, even as he clutches her as tight as he can.

“You do _not_ want everyone to know?” she asks, quickening the pace of her hand on him. “To see that I have claimed you for myself, that you are _mine?_ ”

“ _Leela_ —”

“Just let go,” she encourages, continuing until he can’t say anything that isn’t her name or _please_. It doesn’t take much longer before he’s lost to the surrounding bliss; he reaches out to her with her mind before he even realizes what he’s doing and the bridge between them forms. The stars flash bright behind their eyes and all he can do is hold onto her as he surrenders to her completely, the pleasure spiralling through them both. 

He’s hardly awake when they return to themselves but he pulls her close and for the first time in weeks, he’s able to sleep. 


End file.
